Isabela Madrigal, Heights and Vine Symbolism
Before “What Else Can I Do?”, Isabela is repeatedly positioned higher than Mirabel. She appears on the landing when they’re preparing the birthday party in a dramatic entrance and later rolls her eyes at Mirabel’s claims of the cracks from up there too, while Mirabel is on the ground floor both times. During the argument she drags Mirabel flat on the floor and stands tall over her. Heck, her bed is even on a raised platform with stairs leading up to it.
This shows the imbalances between them of others and especially Alma’s regard, their privilege and implicitly inherent worth. Everyone looks up to Isabela… and she looks down her nose at Mirabel. We sympathize more with Mirabel in these scenes, her feeling to herself and us not just a helpless victim of her sister’s pride, but more reasonable and, well, down-to-earth.
Flowering vine swings in particular symbolize this idea. Her bed, as seen there, is attached to vines strong enough to lift and swing it. Based on how she lowers it when Mirabel first enters her room, I infer that she pulls it up into the enclosing curtains (said by the creative team to represent how she feels trapped) to retreat even further from the world when she’s upset, hiding her messy, ‘bad’ negative emotions out of anyone’s sight and earshot. Besides the bed being a big swing, she’s suspended from vines in the “Did somebody say flowers?” moment; in “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” complete with a spotlight, her vision seemingly the only desirable one foretelling her happiness and prosperity; and in promotional art designed to effectively present her pre-story character, suggesting it’s in-universe something she does often and is known for. Her trademark as “Señorita Perfecta Isabela”.
This demonstrates her skill, strength and precision with her gift, and does a lot to serve her perfect image - and Mirabel’s perception that she’s spoiled and has had everything handed to her. It’s an efficient method of transportation that no ordinary person could use. A glamorous, elevated vehicle reserved for a specific individual and allowing them to sit connotes privilege and superiority, like litters. Her being seated, the vines descending from somewhere unseen rather than us watching her grow them from scratch, their smooth, fluid movement and her not visibly exerting herself in the slightest make her command look totally effortless. It’s easy to forget that she’s controlling the vines at all instead of getting (more) cosmic help. And look at her gorgeous hair and dress as they swish and flow with the elegant motion! Look at the flowers she didn’t need to add, but did, because all that she touches is beautiful to behold! Lovely Isabela, an angel deigning to visit Earth from the heavens. Perfect Isabela, too good to take the stairs like a normal person. What a vain fucking showoff.
In the early part of “WECID” when Mirabel isn’t actively listening to her, she uses vines again. Yet it feels different. She sits on another swing to travel to the location of the verse where she explicitly describes the monotony, oppressiveness and exhaustion of always growing the same perfect flowers and always keeping up a shallow facade. “I grow rows and rows of roses/Fleur de mayo, by the mile/I make perfect, practiced poses”. Oh. It does take effort. It takes energy and time and thought, enough to leave her drained of enthusiasm for life itself. She’s been silently giving her whole self away all these years. Furthering the revelation that using her gift, at least in this way, is actually taxing, she then manipulates the vines to swing her bed not ‘effortlessly’ through her magic but with her arms and weight like a normal person. The movement is a defiant, forceful pull, as if straining against restraints or seizing her personal autonomy. The only time we’ve seen force anything like that from her before is…
emphatically ripping a flower off her own vine while ranting about how the arranged proposal she was going to accept, her ultimate sacrifice in the name of her family, has been ruined.
Now we realize: to Mirabel, the vines’ symbolism is that Isabela is better than her. To Isabela, they’re puppet strings. She doesn’t look in control of them because she isn’t in control of her life, merely a pretty doll Alma moves around, pressured to be passively pulled wherever the supposed needs of “the family” demand. A precarious position that she must constantly work to keep her balance in, lest she irrevocably, unforgivably fall from grace. She literally uses vines as a barrier between her and Mirabel. To try to remove the ‘imperfection’ of Mirabel from her room. They are tools of restriction, division and imposing your will on someone else.
But during “What Else Can I Do?” she thinks of ascension and heights positively. She wants to “climb”, to “rise” right “through the roof, to the skies”, and reflects this by rising on a growing palm tree and going up to the roof, jumping and riding plants higher than she’s ever been before. What changes?
Instead of hanging, she’s standing on her own two feet. On the foundations of her family home and plants she constructs for herself. When she does swing from vines, like when leaping off the roof and later racing to save the candle, she grips them unsupported Tarzan-style, which feels much more active and independent. She even rides on thicker, sturdier moving vines! She initially leaves Mirabel behind to climb after her, Isabela caught up in the rush of discovering and experimenting with freedom of expression and Mirabel still seeing her as a means to the end of protecting the miracle and family (hey, like Alma does… it’s as if they’re foils or something!). But by the bridge they’re both on top of the palm tree.
They’re both on top of the palm tree because Isabela helps Mirabel up. She wants to share her real self with her, for her to be part of this. This is the first moment when she directly addresses Mirabel and asks for her opinion: doesn’t she want freedom and authenticity too? Mirabel is inspired to really listen to her sister, reevaluate her assumptions about her and process the new side of her she’s seeing. Her conclusion - “All I know are the blossoms you grow/But it’s awesome to see how you rise” - is that she likes, loves, even admires the true Isabela and wants to understand and see more of her, no doubt wishing that they’d had this conversation sooner. She chooses to embrace and support her. Isabela sinks to her knees and Mirabel in response sits down next to her, so even their standing height difference is eliminated.
They finally see eye to eye. They rise together.
After that, they stay on the same level throughout the rest of the movie.
The toxic imbalances of power, autonomy and perceived value are gone. They’re equals and respect each other accordingly. At the end of the song, Isabela lets herself fall into a cushioning pile of her new, vibrant flowers, safe in the knowledge that she can catch herself.
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